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What in the realms am I here for if not to serve? To pay back everything that was given so I could be here at all?
I clamp down on my roiling emotions and press my college bracelet to the door to disengage the lock.
I’m serving Ivy. I’m serving the royal family.
What greater purpose could there be than tackling a menace that threatens the entire continent? Our mission deserves all our focus.
I won’t entertain any thoughts of the other reasons I might be making this call—or what they’ll mean formyfuture.
Eight
Ivy
Ibob and dodge, blocking a punch and narrowly avoiding a knee to my gut.
My sparring partner swivels, and I see a brief opening where I could whip a jabbing thumb into her eye. That’s what I’d do if this were an actual life-or-death fight, but I don’t think my employer would approve of street tactics in his combat class.
And the noblewoman I’m sparring with doesn’t deserve it anyway.
I rein in my defensive instincts and shoot out my fist more loosely, giving her the opportunity to block. The point of this drill is for the students to get a feel for constantly moving on their feet while in face-to-face conflict, not to destroy my opponent.
I’m grateful Stavros is allowing me to participate in the lesson at all. It’d be terribly boring standing on the sidelines handing out water and patching up minor scrapes.
No doubt he’s studying my every movement, watching for an excuse to declare that I really am an irredeemable menace after all. He might even be hoping he gets one.
The former general’s voice rings out from across the field. “All right, people! Switch partners again. Every enemy you go up against will have a slightly different approach. If you’re on the ground in a battle, you need to be prepared to adapt in an instant, or you’ll find yourself underfoot rather than on your feet.”
A few of the students around me chuckle at his dry tone. I turn away from the woman I was up against, wiping at the sweat that’s formed on the back of my neck, and look for the guy I particularly wanted to have some face time with.
My gaze catches that of the male student I was searching for, several paces away. When I make a gesture of invitation, he strolls over to take the position across from me.
Even though I prompted this face-off, my pulse gives a brief hitch alongside a tiny defensive flare of my magic. The man approaching me is one of the bug club members from Alek’s homemade dossiers. The scholar’s simple sketch captured the bulky guy’s broad nose and boxy jawline perfectly.
Julita must recognize both him and my intentions.Better be careful with this one, Ivy.
As the possible scourge sorcerer comes to a stop in front of me, I dip my head in acknowledgement of both our intention to spar and Julita’s point. The sparse facts Alek pulled together whirl through my thoughts.
This is Olari Igorek, second son of Provint Igor of Yersi, who governs that province. Dedicated to Sabrelle, in his third year at the college.
A family as prominent as his would normally see any children going into military service becoming majors, if not generals, right out of the gate. Olari has shown a preference for more hands-on field tactics rather than broader strategy, in line with settling for captain.
He’d rather be bossing around the infantry and engaging in regular skirmishes than worrying about the larger issues of a conflict, apparently.
Other than the entomology club, he’s a member of the fencing club and the darts league. Obvious competitive streak. He received an award in a dueling contest last year.
None of that tells me whether he definitely enjoys the idea of using others’ pain to fuel whatever gifts he came by through his own sacrifice. Although I see what sacrifice he made when his lips draw back in a grin of challenge.
His upper front four teeth have been replaced with steel replicas.
If we ever get into a real fight, I’ll have to make sure he’s never in a position to bite me.
Olari makes the first lunge without waiting for any additional signal that I’m ready to begin. His fist sweeps over my ducked head.
I spring to the side. Thank all that’s holy I spent most of the past several years honing my speed as well as my strength.
“You’re pretty skilled for your size,” my opponent remarks as we circle each other. “I can see why Stavros hired you.”
Is he trying to lower my guard with compliments?
